Friday, 13 October 2017

Timing

You were so brave that night, I'll never forget. Single-handedly you took on the driver of the 'shared' auto to assert that the correct fare was five, not ten rupees. An icy bead was frozen at the tip of your nose, your wrinkles subtly frowning at it not to act up in front of strangers, withholding it within their folds. 'This is what I always pay,' you said. I looked with awe at your mouseholed monkey-cap head that remained proudly erect while saying it, 'This is what I always pay.' You stood your ground, not moving away till you had made your point, though you could have moved away, now that you stood on your own ground.

The rest of us sat quiet in the auto, breathing a bit easier in the vacant space you had left behind. It was soon going to descend on us that the cold would also bully us worse, finding us weaker by one. Till an hour ago, we had not known of your presence. Now we found it hard to make do with just the memory of you. We missed the easy intimacy our knees and shoulders had established with yours, discovered in the rhythm conducted by the auto. I had become related to you when I had inhaled the bonfire ash of your clothes and had make-believed warmth.

And now that you were out there, the 'out there' we had all been saving ourselves from, we did not even dare to unshawl our faces lest they got slapped by the wind. We did not know whether we should commiserate with the plaintive driver in his losing battle, who was whining, 'If this is what you always pay, you should've said so in the beginning.' We did not know if you needed us to be with you, in an already won but long lost battle, at least sharing your triumph if not your struggle.

By the time the frustrated auto restarted, I was glad of one thing. I was relieved that you said so in the end ('This is what I always pay') and not in the beginning (good for you). I am glad you did not say it any earlier, when you could've been left behind by the auto driver (though it would have been pure business, nothing personal), between a lonely village and an urgent town (Date: 13 January, Time: 8.26 pm) with hardly any other vehicle around to bail you out, neither for five rupees nor for ten.


First published in Anti-Heroin Chic, 14 Aug 2017.






Wednesday, 11 October 2017

Midnight yearning

Your body
Middle-of-the-night Maggi*

Soft warm noodles-comfort food
Has me soothed

And yet, not full.

So I am always left feeling
I could've done with more keeling

Pea flowers and joined palms
Sliding thighs and knotted arms


When finding it difficult to breathe
We could’ve bloomed open as gasping seas.

*I try not to think of lead when I am thinking satin

First published in The Squawk Back, Oct 2017.





Unstitched

Every second day my mother goes to her tailor
And he sends her back with a false promise;
I don't know why she doesn't give up on him.

But the day I get out of my wheelchair and walk
I plan to go and see this guy
Who makes my mother walk so much.

First published in Broken Head Press, 1 Oct 2017.


Tuesday, 10 October 2017

God

Teaches you the worst habits,
Like talking to someone
Without checking if they’re listening.


First published in Radius, 30 Sep 2017. 


Monday, 9 October 2017

Flutterfly

The little girl jumps up with her frills
To lunge at the umbrella
The mother was about to forget in the bus.
The woman pulls her back with one hand,
With the other, pushing forward the boy
Who's still in a daze made up of his mumbled dream.
In the time it takes Mother to unfurl the umbrella,
The sky over their heads
Has already changed colour.

First published in Radius, 30 Sep 2017. 

Sunday, 8 October 2017

It gets lonely in echo chambers

So many of us are not present
In your mind
When you claim to re-present us
We do not know
How to address you,
How to write you letters
That begin with a "dear",
An "Hon'ble".
You who rule by fear,
Don't you feel like knowing what it is like to be ruled by love?
You speak for us
But not to us.
If you do not learn how to converse
Our listening too-
The listening of those who did not receive a hearing-
Would be one that is not listening
But only waiting for you to stop talking.
And we would not wait forever,
It gets late even as we speak.

First published in Radius, 30 Sep 2017. 




Saturday, 7 October 2017

For whom no bell tolls

“What would you do if you don’t study?
Do you wish to become a rickshaw puller?
You would fail your exams and be thrown out of the school
Then you can join the school for shepherds and herd goats.”
We got scared, we studied some.
Now someone else pulls the rickshaw;
Someone else goes to the school for shepherds.

First published in Radius, 30 Sep 2017. 


FOLLOWERS

Blogger last spotted practising feminism, writing, editing, street theatre, aspirational activism.